Don't look now, but there's a naked woman behind you

11:00 AM

Author Roisin Meaney's new novel, Life Drawing for Beginners, involves something she'd never done: hang out in an art class that worked with a nude model. So, being the responsible author she is and sticking to the adage "write what you know," she enrolled herself in a life drawing class. Here, she shares her experience.

Roisin: So there I was, eating dark chocolate while I cast about for a topic for my next book. (I find eating dark chocolate very inspirational, particularly if it's accompanied by a large glass or three of red wine.) And somewhere between the fifth square of chocolate and the second glass of wine I hit on the idea of an evening class. I liked the thought of bringing a group of adult strangers together for a couple of hours once a week, seeing how they took to one another, how their lives would be affected by this interaction.

I'd better come clean at this point and admit that wasn't the first time I'd used this scenario. In Half Seven on a Thursday, my fourth novel, I wrote about a group of amateur actors rehearsing a play. This time around, though, I thought I'd spice things up a bit by bringing them together to look at another stranger's naked body. Enter thirtysomething art teacher Audrey Matthews and her evening class in life drawing, closely followed by her reluctant model, single mother Jackie.

I should explain here that I knew nothing about life drawing apart from the fact that it involved nudity, which for convent-educated girls like myself held the suggestion of forbidden fruit territory. You can smile, but we'd had the connection between "naked" and "bad" drilled into us from the age of 4: It was only to be expected that I'd blush at the thought of life drawing. It intrigued me, I wanted to use it, and so I had to find out more.

I duly hunted down a life drawing class and enrolled over the phone. On the first evening I arrived with my brand new sketch pad, pencils, charcoal and putty rubber, feeling like the ignoramus that I was, and having no idea what to expect. The last time I'd used an art pencil had been in high school, over 30 years previously. I didn't recall setting the art world on fire then, and had no great expectations that I'd do it now.

The studio was smallish and scattered about with desks and chairs, with a handful of people, both male and female, already seated. I made myself known to Paul, the teacher, and admitted my real reason for coming, having decided that I should. (Blame the convent again, and my well-trained conscience.) He was highly amused at his class being the subject of book research, and very willing to go along with it, especially when I promised to mention him in the acknowledgments.

I found a seat, and as I was setting out my supplies a young woman came out from an inner room in a dressing gown, which she undid when she reached the center of the studio as unselfconsciously as peeling off a jacket. I glanced around and saw nobody looking the least bit embarrassed as they regarded her completely nude body. Not a blush, not a snigger, not a hint of an elbow nudge to be seen. Clearly, I was the only one who'd been to the convent.

Paul instructed her into the first pose equally nonchalantly, and off we went. My initial efforts were as bad as I'd feared. The poor woman would have been in dire need of emergency surgery if she'd looked anything like the gargoyle that began to take shape on my page. Paul patrolled the studio, offering comments and suggestions as he went. When he came to my desk there were a few seconds of tactful silence before he murmured: "It's got great energy." I was so impressed at his kindness that I had Audrey use the phrase in one scene when she was describing a drawing by James, who had about as much "talent" as myself.

The life drawing class taught me a valuable lesson: stick to the writing. I will never make a living as an artist, despite poor Paul's valiant attempts to nurture my inner Van Gogh. For all that, I enjoyed the classes — Paul had great taste in music — and thankfully I did learn enough about the nuts and bolts of life drawing to make it sound like Audrey knew her stuff.

I still have my drawings; they're sitting on the top shelf of my wardrobe. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to throw them out. Maybe I'll write a picture book for kids about gargoyles some day, and I'll be all set with the illustrations.

Readers can learn more about Roisin and her books at her website, RoisinMeaney.com. You can also connect with her Twitter (@roisinmeaney).

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